Release
by verymuchfurther
Summary: PWP. M for a reason. John is looking for release and Sherlock's curiosity is... well curious.


**A/n: Practically no plot lies ahead just some male on male action so if that's not your thing turn back. You have been warned. For the rest of you: enjoy!**

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John lay on his bed, the door was shut, Sherlock was downstairs, and everything was quiet. Everything was still. He had some time alone.

It had been a rough day, work had been tough, full of patients who weren't nearly as ill as they pretended to be and little old ladies who couldn't stop talking. He had returned to the flat with arms full of shopping just in time to stop Sherlock shooting the wall, again. He didn't have a case on, which in Sherlock's world was a perfectly reasonable excuse to shoot the wall. Boredom lead him to do such strange things.

Sherlock had been wearing _that _shirt, the purple one, the tight one, the one that had the buttons straining for release. That shirt did things to John, things he only knew one way to solve. John had long since accepted his feelings for Sherlock, they had confused him for so long. They took over enough of his mind without the confusion so it was best just to let them happen. He'd never act on them, never could. He just had to hope Sherlock wouldn't notice, like he noticed everything else.

By the time he had found an excuse to go to bed early (one that Sherlock would accept without too much suspicion) John was aching for release and thinking only of that shirt, and what lay beneath it. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to think of women of their curves and their perfumes. Maybe Sarah from the office, he could think of her, she was... attractive, she was kind, she smelt nice. His cock seemed rather disappointed by this idea, deflated so to speak. Sarah was lovely but she wasn't Sherlock.

Sherlock's body was caught somewhere between the typical masculine and feminine. He was light and fluid and graceful but also strong and defined. His skin seemed so smooth and his hair just invited John to tangle his fingers into it. John wanted to pull on that hair, to suck kisses into Sherlock's neck, to whisper promises into his ear. He wanted to tease Sherlock until he broke, until his knees crumbled and he begged for release. He wanted Sherlock to ache the way he ached. He wanted that long fluid body covering his own, those gangly limbs wrapped around him. He wanted to feel every inch of Sherlock's body pressed tight against his own, skin against skin and lips against lips.

John slid his hand down to his jeans, pulled the zipper down slowly and undid the button. There was no rush; he had plenty of time now. He released his cock from his underwear, already achingly hard and groaned. He shimmied out of the confines of his clothes, taking the time to also remove his shirt. He kept his eyes shut as he did this, not wanting to lose the image of Sherlock, not wanting to tarnish it with thoughts of reality. His hand on himself felt like such a relief. He wondered how good Sherlock's would feel, the soft skin of Sherlock's palm would feel amazing in contrast to John's own rough hands. And Sherlock's long fingers would feel perfect gripping him. John knew those fingers would feel perfect in other places too.

Without opening his eyes John reached his free hand across to his bedside table, grabbing the lube he had placed there early. He removed his hand from his cock for just a moment to spread it across his fingers. Then, with one hand slowly stroking his shaft John reached the other down around his leg, breathing steadily, letting his finger circle his entrance in an oh-so-agonising manner. He had done this plenty of times before but it still felt like a treat, his own little indulgence. He had to tease himself before he could even think about slipping that first finger inside. He lifted his hips of the bed slightly, improving his angle as he just began to push his index finger in.

"Fascinating."

John's eyes snapped open.

"Sherlock! Shit... what are you doing!"

John scrambled to cover himself, wondering if there was any way he could hide what he had been doing, claim it was some medical procedure.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, how long had he been there? If John didn't know better he'd say that was a smirk on his face.

"I was... observing."

"Observing! You can't just walk in when people are..." John trailed off, unwilling to finish his sentence. Now there was denying of Sherlock's smirk.

"Now, now John, you know of my scientific curiosity," Sherlock explained, "and that curiosity extends to... all areas," he added with a suggestive look down at John's body. "Don't stop on my account."

"Sherlock, I am not going to... continue with you standing there."

"Would you rather I sit down?"

" Sherlock."

"John, your pupils remain dilated, your checks are flushed and not with embarrassment, and still the majority of your blood flow is directed at certain areas. Despite my presence, Doctor Watson, you remain aroused, perhaps even more so."

It was true, John could not deny it, the thought of Sherlock wanting him to continue certainly intrigued him. Maybe if he just closed his eyes again he could pretend Sherlock wasn't even there.

John closed his eyes, stretched his legs back out, his hard cock proudly on display, he returned his hand to its original position, stroking faster now, now desperate for release. But he needed something more, he needed Sherlock. Perhaps if he opened his eyes for just a second, if he just caught a glimpse. Surely that would drive him over the edge and this would all be over.

The second John opened his eyes they locked with Sherlock's. Sherlock's face was flushed, his eyes were wild, he was biting his bottom lip with what could only be described as lust and a prominent bulge was forming in his trousers.

"John, I-"

John sprung to his knees and cut Sherlock of with a kiss, Sherlock remained unmoving for a moment but soon welcomed the kiss, allowing John's tongue to slip into his mouth. It was nothing like normal first kisses, it was not slow and sweet or tentative and unsure, it was hot and messy and desperate. John broke their lips apart breathing heavily against Sherlock, his hands either side of the taller man's face, their foreheads still connected.

"Oh."

John was in no mood for going slow, he was in no mood for letting Sherlock take the lead. His hand shot to Sherlock's trousers, quickly undoing them and pushing them aside. He reached for Sherlock's cock, proudly grabbing it like it was some kind of prize. Sherlock bucked into John's hand.

John panted against Sherlock's neck, he could hear the man's breathing getting faster, feel him trying to hold in his pleasure.

"Been wanting to touch you for so long Sherlock, to feel you, you in that fucking shirt."

Sherlock grinned then, a grin that was quickly replaced by a moan as John gave a sharp tug on his cock. John gripped them both together then, quickly and desperately. They slid against one another.

Sherlock repeated John's name like a mantra, not knowing what else to say, forgetting that anything else even existed. And John finally got to whisper those promises, saying just what he wanted to do, how long he had been waiting to do it, how soon it would now happen.

They came together, splattering across John's chest and that damned shirt. Their chests stuck as Sherlock initiated a kiss between the two of them, nudging his own lips against John's nervously. John took the kiss greedily, wrapping his wet hand around the back of Sherlock's neck, fingers just dancing in those curls.

"Shower?" John suggested.

Sherlock nodded, his doctor had left him speechless. He took John's hand and followed him into the bathroom. After all, they had many promises to fulfil.

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**A/N: So yeah, never written porn before *hides***


End file.
